


arthaus rollerderby

by sventheolsen



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Art, Breathplay, F/F, Gentle Sex, Kink, PWP, betty is kinky too, gal pals, praise!kink, veronica is a kinky rich white girl and no one can dispute that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sventheolsen/pseuds/sventheolsen
Summary: Veronica sends out a special request for an art project. Betty accepts.





	arthaus rollerderby

It begins innocuously enough. 

 

She clicks a link she shouldn’t really, a sultry blonde staring at the camera, eyes glinting dangerously in sepia. She ends up staring for too long, mouth dry. But Veronica has never been one to deny what she wants, so before her mind even begins to process her actions, she shoots off a (vague) subtweet. 

 

**photography project. ap art credit. need a willing young model. photo preferred.**

 

It’s a white lie. Maybe she might use it in her portfolio, a risque option for safety options like Smith or Holyoke. She bits her lip as she sees the messages rolling in, rolling her eyes at Moose and Reggie’s very enthusiastic, if slimy, responses. 

 

Then the retweets from girls start coming in;  Veronica starts and chides her own heteronormative assumptions. She ponders at Cheryl’s response, and eyes her Snap - a pout, and that mole on her upper lip won’t hurt. 

 

Her indecision halts when a tentative response comes from Betty Cooper, Riverdale’s own girl-next-door. But it really, really isn’t what she expects. She sucks in a breath when she sees her piercing blue eyes, hooded under some dark lighting, lips parted as if to tell her some secret. Veronica is sold. 

 

Immediately she conjures settings where she can provoke that  _ look _ , thinks of how to adjust the lighting to play with shadows framing her face. 

 

Guilt twists in her chest, but again, Veronica won’t deny what she wants. So she tamps down her indecision and taps out a response.

 

**_tomorrow afternoon okay with you?_ **

 

**_alright. see you at two._ **

 

She doesn’t realize how fast her heartbeat drills in her chest, until after she places her phone face down. 

 




Betty’s gaze burns in her memory every time she closes her own, and she realizes belatedly that she honestly can’t pay attention to anything else, calculus lessons and cheerleader practice washing over her in a muted drone. 

 

The only time her focus picks up is when she sees a tell-tale swish of blonde in the corner of her eyes. High spots colour her cheeks when Betty catches her staring at her a bit long, and she whips her neck fast - there goes her reputation as the  _ cool new girl, _ she thinks later. 

 

But her fingers itch with the urge to go to her room  _ now,  _ arrange the covers and drapes such that a muted afternoon glow diffuses her room. She finds herself rushing after school to do just that, and she fiddles with her cameras with a laserlike intensity. 

 

She struggled with the direction, but decided to go retro instead - three tripods covered the room in a triangular position, three Polaroids. One DSLR stands innocuously at the back, but Veronica rationalizes that it’s for technical layout purposes.

 

Before she knows it, the dining hall clock chimes two o’clock, and her already rapid heart rate rises. She breathes deeply and smooths her pencil skirt, and walks downstairs.

 

As if in sync, the doorbell rings, and Veronica swings the door open, afraid of freezing otherwise. 

 

Betty stares at her in surprise. “Oh, hi.” Her face splits into an earnest smile, and raises her hand in a small wave. 

 

Veronica smiles in response, coughing into her fist. “Uh, thanks for coming.” She offers, stepping back, Betty’s hips checking into her own as she enters.  “I think you should come upstairs,” She suggests,easily reverting into an authoritative role. Control, that’s what she needs. “There’s some things we have to discuss, before we, y’know, actually do it.” She winces and decides to walk ahead.  _ Control. Control.  _

 

Betty meekly follows her upstairs, letting out a little gasp at the layout. “Wow, you’re- you’re kinda serious about this,” she breathes, seeing the black strips of cloth taped across her windows, the newspapers carefully placed on her bed. Veronica chuckles nervously in response. “Yeah, yeah I really wanted to get this right. Credit and all,” she motions for Betty to sit on the bed. Betty gingerly places herself on the spread, closing her legs primly. She looks up at her expectantly, and for a second that same determined glimmer is back.

 

Veronica claps her hands loudly. “Right,” she exhales, and moves to sit next to her. “This is a personal project of mine,” she’s surprised by her truthfulness. “And was inspired by a photo online. I wanted to explore the idea of the body as art, and blurring the boundaries between -” she waves a hand at her friend, “the body, places of intimacy, and color.” 

 

Betty nods, but Veronica can tell she wants to know more. “So, I as a model - how do I fit into the bigger picture,” and she chortles a little at her own pun. Veronica rolls her eyes. 

 

She elects not to reply, but to move across the room to retrieve something. “You’re going to wear this,” she says carefully, holding up a beige bathrobe. “Because it’s going to get messy, and also, because of other things. Maybe not today.” 

 

Betty nods, and moves across the room to the bathroom. She hears the door click and Betty shuffling inside, her own stomach churning. 

 

She needs to stick to her boundaries, Veronica tells herself, twisting her fingers nervously. And nobody will get hurt. 

 

Her internal monologue dies off as she hears Betty re-enter, knees bare and face devoid of makeup, blond curly wisps falling around the cusp of her neck. Her eyes flick down to her chest, noting the hint of the swell of her breasts. “You’re not wearing any bra,” she mutters inadvertently, and Betty looks back at her startled. 

 

“Yeah,” she stutters, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I thought the strap would ruin it- Is that wrong? I can-” 

 

Yes. “No, it’s fine.” Veronica cuts her off, bouncing up her heels to ready her camera, all three cameras set to blinking red. 

 

“So, we’re going to do some rehearsal shots, okay?” Veronica tells her, turning the focus lens. “Sit on the center of the bed, in between the papers.” 

 

Betty  acquiesces, legs folding underneath. Veronica huffs out a breath. “Try to look more natural,” She straightens up. “Spread your legs, lean back a little.” Betty follows, but now she looks like a marionette, laying but not belonging to her space. 

 

Veronica purses her lips and pushes herself to sit on the bed. She leans over and pushes Betty’s abdomen back, her model complying to her physical orders.

 

She hums in dissatisfaction as she pulls her calves slightly apart, but decides to close them again. It’s only when she grabs her firmly by the waist that she realizes Betty is silent, is staring at her, and her eyes snaps to the gaze boring onto her own. Oh. 

 

Oh.

 

That  _ look  _ is back, the one that ensnared her and made her mouth dry. Betty stares at her evenly. Her fingers start rubbing down her sides slightly. “Is this alright?” Betty whispers back at her, their breathing unnaturally loud in the room. Her lips curl at the corner, almost teasing. 

 

Veronica leans closer, her own bangs shrouding them both. Before this, Veronica was more distracted by space than the girl in front of her, and she finally  _ looks _ . (But that’s a lie. Veronica’s been looking since the day they met.) 

 

Looks at the soft jutting chin angled towards her slightly, the curve of her cheekbones, the tiny pale freckles dusting her nose, and of course those  _ eyes _ . 

 

But she jolts, and raises herself off the bed. “Give me a second,” she replies, heart thundering in her chest.  She clumsily fumbles with the Polaroid and brings it back with her, electing to sit a safer distance.

 

“Look at me,” she orders. Betty looks at her, slight disappointment melting into something more loose. Her shoulders relax, her face tilted slightly to the side. She takes a snap. “There,” she announces. “That’s good.” 

 

A hint of a smile graces her lips, and she takes that too. “Try looking to the left now,” Veronica says, and it works and Veronica gets in another shot. And so it goes for the next ten minutes, Veronica gently coaxing Betty to shift her posture just so, and trying to swallow the lump in her throat as picture-perfect shot after perfect shot is taken. 

 

But another idea strikes her, of course, and Veronica figures her dignity has already taken a dive. She has nothing to lose. “Push your bathrobe to the side, Not too much, but just a bit.” she says, and manages to be professional even if Betty, wide-eyed, complies. 

 

She bends over to the side of the bed, grabbing the small aluminium tin and placing at her side. “I said things were going to get messy,” she dips her fingers carefully into the mauve paint. 

 

She clasps her chin. “I need you to trust me.” It isn’t framed as a question, and yet she waits for the minute nod of acceptance before she proceeds. Gently, she presses her fingers against her throat, feeling her delicate tendons tensing and releasing at her touch. 

 

A warm, drunk power fills her - the type when she’s given permission to  _ touch Betty’s body,  _ to be trusted so deeply. She caresses the base of her throat with her paint-dripping thumbs, and pushings back on her haunches to examine her work.

 

She bites her tongue. “You look - “ Veronica mumbles, and clicks a picture instead. She spends a few seconds staring at the result, a blonde doll marked in dull red. 

 

“Veronica,” and she looks up, alarmed at the authority in Betty’s tone. Her hand is reached out, bathrobe shifting to cover. “Show me the picture,” She insists, moving forward, and Veronica releases it. 

 

She releases and catches her lip, and for an agonizing few moments Veronica considers that this is it, this is the boundary she shouldn’t have crossed. 

 

“Touch me again.” She looks at her, but it isn’t as suggestive as she wondered, her lips are pressed together in a thin line, almost grim in determination. She blinks. Okay? 

 

She moves slower, dipping her slightly chipped nails into the red paint again. Her eyes flicker down her body, and decides to slowly drag her fingers from the base of her neck to the middle of chest, near to hear her heartbeat but not quite. She’s stuck of course, she would laugh at her pathetic lack of impulse control - seeing Betty close her eyes and arch her chest in response, seeing her plump lips agape in some slight awe. 

 

She could literally do this all day, she thinks. So she reluctantly drags her fingers away, pressing the back of her knuckles and relishing how it elicits a slight shudder. She withdraws, yet Betty keeps her eyes closed. Veronica wonders - who is she thinking now? Whose fingers is she imagining running over her skin, instead of her own. Is it Archie? She grinds her teeth.

 

She swallows her anxiety and takes a click. Betty barely registers, still open and still. She moves back when Betty still doesn’t move, repeated a slow caress down chest. There are still lines across her body Veronica doesn’t dare pass, but she slowly unties her robe with one hand and tries to slide one finger down to her belly. But Veronica is only human, and she feels herself leaning over as she does so, their personal spaces melting away carelessly. 

 

“Pretty girl,” she murmurs, awed; feeling the warmth blossom low in her gut.  Betty shifts then, spreading her legs a bit more, Veronica’s body pulled closer. “So gorgeous,” she keeps stroking the base of her belly with two fingers, whispering into the shell of Betty’s ear. Any doubts vanish from her mind - Veronica feels the drunk rush again, Betty comes undone for  _ her.  _

 

Betty exhales softly, perhaps even in a moan. Veronica takes it as the encouragement she needs. She places her fingers around her neck, gently pressing again, face hovering above her own. “Lie down,” she instructs gently, and straddles her waist. The buzz gets greater now, Betty underneath her, Betty’s eyes half-hooded, her exhales getting progressively shorter.

 

“Is this okay?” She asks. Betty nods voicelessly. “Are you?” Betty asks gently, the tremble in her tone betraying her vulnerability. 

 

“Your eyes are gorgeous.” She murmurs in response, and presses kisses on her eyelids to prove it. She proceeds to kiss her cheeks, her neck, and even veers dangerously near her lips. “Can I?” And rubs her fingers across her thighs. 

 

“Please -” The blonde’s breath hitches, and she stops. “No.” Betty shifts herself, and Veronica finds her neck being clasped by her hands. They kiss, and Veronica finds herself melting in a sun gone supernova. They press lips against each other, fingers roaming and bodies pressing against each other. In hindsight, she knew this was going to happen the moment Betty stepped out in her tiny bathrobe, fresh-faced and meek. 

 

She pushes her back further, and rubs her fingers against the inside of her thighs, relishing the way Betty squirms underneath her, and pushes against her weight for dominance. So it’s with a punishing smirk that she slips two fingers inside her wet heat without warning, her smirk widening as Betty’s back arches further and says pleadingly - “Ronnie,  _ fuck.”  _

 

But Veronica has always put herself first, so she presses her grinning lips at the juncture of her red-stained neck and sucks on it greedily. She lets her fingers rest inside her while Betty gasps in agony, and decides to give mercy by slowly pumping her index finger in and out. 

 

Betty seeks recourse by wrapping her hands around her back in a vice-like grip, Veronica so maddeningly close she hears an echo of her frenzied heartbeat thudding underneath her. Veronica continues to palm at her breast and press her lips insistently at her neck, her fingers continuing to slide and curl until Betty lets out a long whine. 

 

She curls her fingers until she finds  _ that spot,  _ and presses unrepentantly as Betty bucks and goes rigid underneath her. Veronica pulls back to see her flutter her eyelashes and her mouth round an ‘o’ - this, this she wanted to capture for her eyes alone, beautiful Betty coming undone before her eyes.

 

She stills, and as Veronica slowly withdraws her fingers and detaches her fingers, she pushes herself off, ignoring the wet heat in the juncture of her own thighs. She leans to pick up the discarded camera, and swivels to see a dazed Betty within the sheets. 

 

_ Snap.  _ This one’s just for her.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i have seen like 2 ep of this show and i am still beronica trash. if enough people like there will be a part 2 to "how many ways can beronica indirectly fuck???" with strapons.


End file.
